Stay Focused
by MyBatBoys
Summary: Even super heroes have trouble focusing at times. Just an attempt at a short but sweet ficlet.
1. Her POV

_This is my first attempt at writing a ficlet so please be kind._

_Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't make money off them, I just love them._

* * *

She was trying her best to stay focused during their daily meeting, but her mind kept trying to unmask their speaker; staring at his perfectly sculpted body, each muscle group well toned and defined.

'Snap out of it.'

'I'm trying!' she mentally growled back to her conscious.

'Focus on the topic... what's the topic again?' she asked herself as she looked at the training manual, '_T-Ship Emergency Evacuation Protocol and You_" written by Cyborg, the Titan who thrived on anything and everything electronic. She adored her friend but his instruction manuals always read like stereo instructions: 'Insert slot A into flap B...'

Holding back a mental sigh, she turned to page eight with the rest of her team.

"As Cyborg has pointed out, the blue switch charges..."

'Blue switch,' she thought, trying to listen, 'blue switch, blue sky, blue ocean, blue...eyes. Eyes so intensely blue they were practically lethal. Blue to the point of...'

"...question? Donna?"

A discrete kick to the leg of her chair by Garth, seated to her left, snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Oh. I'm sorry. What did you say?" Troia asked, feeling her cheeks burn and for the first time wished she wore a mask also.

Nightwing smiled. "I asked you if you had a question."

Suddenly realizing she must have been staring at her handsome friend for some time, she flashed a confident smile as she felt her face burn hotter. "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

Nightwing waited a second before grinning back, "Very well then, as I was saying, the T-Ship's diagnostics..."

**Thanks for reading and please, review and let me know what you thought.**


	2. His POV

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make money off them, don't sue please.

Stay Focused -- His POV

by:

Christine Wood

* * *

Rubbing his brow quickly a couple times, Nightwing takes a deep breath, _You can get through this, Grayson. You're in control. Focus, focus. This won't last forever. Remember your training. Separate yourself from the pain, yet, stay alert-- observant. Never let them see a weakness; it's your responsibility, your duty to them as their leader. They draw strength from your controlled, positive outlook when the odds are against us,'_ he coaches himself before looking at his team mates' forlorn faces.

Nightwing chuckles to himself, thinking of the irony of their pathetic continences in relation to their current situation. They've faced, and conquered, foes that made this one seem like the County Fair.

_Focus, focus... this will end. You'll get her– Them. You'll get them through this. Ignore her pleading glances... **Their**, damn it!'_

_No. It's her. She's looking at me again. Distracting me, turning baby blues toward me...my eyes, arms-- don't flex-- my chest_ swallow '_my... Oh.'_

_Close eyes-- quick, deep breath... make eye contact with my team. Yes, gang, we're still in control. I've got it all figured out._'

Looking down, Nightwing focuses in on the training manual again, '_T-Ship Emergency Evacuation Protocol and You_' written by Cyborg, the Titan who thrives on anything and everything electronic. Nightwing considers Cyborg a good friend and all, but his instruction manuals always read like stereo instructions: _'Insert flap A into slot B...' _

_That's right, I've got it allll under control. Ride it out, the end is in sight...'_

_Nghh-- Not if she keeps undressing me with her eyes. What is she thinking? This is not the time, Trioa. I need to concentrate. You know that.'_

_Concentrate on the current task; concentrate on... con-cen-trate on...uh, on...on the...way her eyes sparkle just like the silver crescent moons dangling from her tender lobes.' _

_Grrr... knock it off and focus!'_

_I'm **trying**,'_ Nightwing growls back at his conscious.

_I'm focusing. Yep, deeefinitely focusing on... the... the light, how it shines off her silky, wavy mane.' _

_Okay. Good girl. She's looking down again, finally trying to focus. Alright, quick deep breath. Continue handling the situation. Don't notice how... it drives you crazy when she does that, twirling a lock of hair around her finger before letting go, allowing the soft curl to fall, gracing the side of her face.'_

_Brace yourself, Grayson. Only a matter of seconds before-- oh, sweetheart-- she pushes the back of her hand against her hair, rolling her head back and to the side at the same time as she brushes it behind her shoulder. Her hand slowly moving back, against her jaw line, tucking a stray lock behind her ear, for it to only fall forward once again as she looks down.'_

_Fo--cusing now, focusing on... page... the way it slips off her shoulder before falling down to rest against her... And what was she thinking designing a costume, so low cut, exposing the tender, milky smooth flesh of her... yeah.'_

_I mean, sure, it's supposed to be a distraction to enemies. I get that, but hell, what about her team mates? And .. Uh oh. She's doing it again. Eyes, she's undressing my-- eyes? Is that even possible?' hard swallow Apparently, it is. Undress huh? Well, two can play at that game.'_

_No. No no no you can't!'_

_Regain control, Grayson, and do it now, before it's too late.'_

"Did you have a question, Donna?" -- _...Oh, Doooon-na, earth to Donna...'_

"Uh, I'm sorry. What did you say?" asks Troia.

_Sooo glad I'm wearing my mask.' _Nightwing thinks as he watches Troia's face flush a gorgeous shade of crimson.

"I asked you if you had a question." _Flash her a smile, poor kid.'_

"No, no. I'm fine, thank you."

Troia returns his grin.

_But, damn if her smile doesn't light up the room. Sweetheart, you're dangerous in more ways than you know.'_

clear throat

"Very well then, as I was saying, the T-Ship's diagnostics..."


End file.
